


Bittersweet

by StrawberryMoon9



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Eventual tenderness, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Rough Sex, Simultaneous Orgasm, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26582098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryMoon9/pseuds/StrawberryMoon9
Summary: Canonverse. In the wake of the Sino-Soviet border conflict, Ivan and Yao meet to settle their differences. RoChu.
Relationships: China/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 43





	Bittersweet

_Moscow, 1969._

When Ivan woke to the rapid fire-knocks on his door, he didn’t question for a moment that it was Yao. What the real question was, for Ivan, was whether or not he should answer. Most of him still shook with anger at the sound, knowing Yao would find a way to blame Ivan for it all, even though it was Russian blood that had been spilt first. Yet part of him stirred at the thought of seeing him, of hearing his voice even if it was dripping with hatred.

He crawled out of bed with the blood pumping in his veins, standing at the door and letting Yao wait. The arrogant fool could wait.

Another three knocks. “Open the door, Russia. I can see your shadow through the hinges.”

_Ah._ Ivan scoffed. _So we're on country-name basis now._

He undid the deadbolt and yanked the door open by a few inches. “What is it you want?”

“I should be asking you that,” Yao seethed, his eyes flashing a particular shade of fury when they glanced up to meet Ivan. His suit looked crumpled, slept in, and his ponytail was loose.

“Rough trip?”

“Try rough month, you revisionist scum –”

“Ah-” Ivan closed the door, leaving only a sliver of space. “There will be no name-calling in my home, China. You’re either here for pleasure or business, and I won’t tolerate hostilities in either case.”

Yao laughed darkly, almost sounding tired. “Right. Because you’re all about keeping the peace.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, the door still mostly shut. Ivan opened it once more, catching Yao staring forlornly into the ground. Almost instantly Yao snapped his head up, his right brow raised in that familiar, indignant way.

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to sneer at me, or something? Say something vaguely threatening about the growing reach of your influence across the globe?”

Ivan chuckled. It was cute that Yao still had that impression of him. These days, it seemed that it was _China_ that was the force to be reckoned with. At least, that’s what Ivan’s boss implied behind closed doors. “Actually, I was thinking to invite you in for tea.”

Yao blinked, not seeming to believe it. “You know poisoning me won’t have very long-lasting effects, right?”

“And you also know that poison is not my weapon of choice, _da_?” Ivan maintained his sugar-sweet smile, knowing how this always annoyed Yao, to mix his pleasantries with unsettling words. He cleared his throat and softened his smile a bit. “Not to worry, China. The tea will not kill you.”

“Ugh,” Yao scoffed, though he was already peeling off his coat and wiping his wet boots on the welcome mat. “Fine.”

Ivan hummed, pleased at the thought of Yao staying for longer than a few minutes of berating and yelling. It would give Ivan a chance to lower his defences, push a few buttons, watch the easy way in which Yao showed emotion – particularly those of exasperation and indignity.

As the tea was brewed and poured into delicate porcelain tea cups in the living room, where small talk would have normally taken place, there was only silence. Ivan knew the inevitable conversation would come around again, but it loomed so obviously that small talk was near impossible. Yao crossed his legs on the couch and picked up his tea cup carefully, in a regal motion of the hand that had probably been practiced for longer than Ivan had even existed. He thought about making a joke about it. Yao caught him looking and raised that infuriatingly alluring brow.

“I see you’re still drinking out of pretty teacups,” Yao said, his tone brittle. Ivan could practically hear the _“reformist traitor”_ accusation in his tone.

“You prefer your tin mugs? Or did your boss tell you to melt those down along with the rest of your crockery, too?”*

Yao set his teacup into its holder with a pointed _clang_. “Ha! That's low. Even for you. Tell me about your latest five-year plan. How many do you expect will die from famine this year?”**

“You and I both know we hold little control over such things,” Ivan said, his voice betraying him with its shakiness. He sipped from his cup, letting the tea burn his lips. “And I know you're too old to actually care about the fine print of our ideologies.”

“What I care about,” Yao said, seething his words as he rose in his seat, “is the men you fired at on Chinese territory.”

“Ah…” Ivan scoffed. “So we’ll forget about the Soviet men you killed no less than 2 weeks ago to claim it as yours. We’ll forget about the fact that you yourself handed Damansky over to us – ”

“No such thing happened.”

“What didn’t happen? The unwarranted provocation on Soviet territory, or the agreement you made to hand Damansky over to us in the first place?”***

Yao clacked his tongue in annoyance. He stood up. “Both, you –”

Ivan yanked him down into his lap, blood throbbing through his veins with the sudden weight of Yao on him. “Why don't we settle it right here, hm?” His breaths were tinged with need, watching the way Yao was gazing at him furiously. Without really wanting it to, it went straight to his cock, and he knew Yao could feel how hard he was getting. Yao only shifted in his lap, his voice hitching slightly.

“You know I don't sleep with the enemy.”

Ivan laughed, nuzzling his mouth against Yao's temple, dragging his lips down to his throat and inhaling his scent. “You already have. I know everything about you, Yao. Down to every last mewl and whimper you'll make when I dominate you –”

Ivan stopped short, glancing up to Yao's charcoal-dark eyes. There was an aloofness to his expression, a stone-cold stoicism that he couldn't quite read. Usually there was something more, something to lead him on. He bit gently at Yao's bottom lip, inhaling with relief when Yao kissed him, deepening the interlocking of their lips. The first of these kisses always felt heavenly, sending a cascade of pleasure throughout Ivan's body by the mere warmth of it after being left out in the cold for so long. It didn't matter what was going on in the meeting room, or across their shared border – between their desperate lips was something startlingly tender, which Ivan had learned to enjoy only for a fleeting moment. Pretences were always quick to follow.

“You don't know anything about me,” Yao said, exhaling slowly as he pulled away, regaining that polished dignity. “Do you really think I came all the way over here to submit to you?”

“I think you missed it.”

Yao scoffed, though his tan skin was glowing with a flushed rosiness Ivan liked to think only he was privy to. Ivan cupped his cheek, teasing his fingers through Yao's hair.

“Admit it, Yaochka… You're heart is racing. You missed this.”

Yao pursed his lips, running his hands up and down Ivan's chest without saying a word. Ivan bucked his hips, unable to help himself.

“Unbuckle your belt,” Yao said quietly.

“ _Nyet_ ,” Ivan purred. “Show me how hungry you are.”

Yao sighed exasperatedly, kneeling down on the floor. “I'm doing it as a favour to you. You're acting like you haven't been touched for months.” He ran his palm over the bulge of Ivan's trousers, delicately toying with the buckle and zipper. He shot a dark-eyed glance up at Ivan. “Years, maybe. Do the hookers here not take care of you?”

Ivan opened his mouth, hesitating to answer before being interrupted by Yao's chuckle.

“What?” Ivan asked. Yao shook his head. Ivan threaded his fingers through Yao's hair, tugging him towards his cock. “You're making me very impatient, _da_?”

Yao hummed, his eyelids flickering at the touch. “You're just like a wind-up toy. I rile you up and off you go,” he said, a sly smile tugging at his lips. He unzipped Ivan's trousers, palming his hand over the bulge through his boxers. He pulled Ivan's cock out and ran his hand up and down the shaft. Ivan groaned at the touch, leaning his head back and bucking his hips up closer to Yao.

“You're eager,” Yao hummed, running his hand leisurely up the shaft. Ivan felt the warmth of Yao's lips on the head of his cock and struggled to keep his eyes open. He exhaled shakily, reaching for Yao's head and coaxing it down. Yao whined, partly at being rushed, but Ivan had seen the way Yao's eyes flickered with pleasure any time Ivan took charge. Yao was now bobbing up and down, completely taking in Ivan's cock, making soft little moans whenever Ivan tightened his grip of Yao's hair and gently jerked his hips up.

Ivan cursed under his breath, pulling Yao away from his cock. He didn't want to finish just yet. He trailed his thumb over Yao's wet, parted lips. “Bend over.”

Yao scoffed. His face was flushed but his eyes challenged Ivan, dark and taunting. “Make me,” he said, the tease of a smile on his lips. In intimacy, their power games were predictable – easy, and pleasurable. Nothing like reality, which was painfully tainted by both _realpolitik_ and their own petty, human jealousies.

Ivan gladly took Yao on his request, lifting him up with him as he stood from the couch. He ignored Yao's undignified yelp, draping him over the arm of the couch and pinning him down by the nape of his neck. He yanked Yao's trousers and boxers down to his knees, leaving him bare while he went to his bedroom to retrieve a small pot of vaseline. He coated his fingers in the vaseline and slowly fingered Yao, relishing the swallowed moans Yao was so desperately trying to hide.

The first push of his cock into Yao was slow, resisted by searing warmth. Yao gasped silently, his eyes wide and fingers clawing into the couch. Ivan's breath shook, almost seeing stars with how tight Yao was around him. He gripped Yao's shoulders, pinning him down as he pulled out slightly only to pound back in in short, rough thrusts. Yao cried out each time, spreading his legs to allow more of Ivan in him, as his indignant cries turned into lustful moans and whimpers.

He watched through hazy, half-lidded eyes as Yao's face contorted with pleasure, his lips gaping prettily and his cheeks dusted pink. Ivan ran his fingers through Yao's hair, tugging slightly to earn a pleasured mewl as Yao went completely limp beneath him, taking Ivan's cock in completely. The sight nearly sent Ivan over the edge, his breaths ragged. He pulled out slowly, letting Yao feel every inch sliding out of him, and flipped him over onto his back.

“Look at you,” Ivan panted, hoisting Yao's legs over his shoulders and bending down to kiss his flushed throat. “You're close, aren't you?”

Yao swallowed a moan, nodding shakily. “It's… taking you long enough to do something about it.”

Ivan kiss up Yao's jawline, meeting his half-lidded amber eyes. There was nothing shielding them this time – no mask of diplomacy, no pretence of a marriage made only for convenience. No hatred, either. It had all but dissolved on the tip of their tongues as their lips came together. It was normally, at this point that Ivan would have delighted in playing more games, in denying Yao pleasure just to hear him beg for it. But there was a fullness in Ivan's chest that ached, a sudden wish that he would always be looked at in that tender way by Yao.

He ran his hand down Yao's half-open and wrinkled shirt, revelling in the fever-like warmth emanating from him. He wrapped his hand around Yao's cock just as he entered him, pumping his hand in time with his thrusts, muttering curses under his breath as Yao's moans grew more high-pitched and desperate. Yao clawed at his arms, burying his face into his neck as he came, whimpering as his body grew hot and tight around Ivan. Ivan groaned, coming inside Yao as he made his final, rough thrusts. He fell limp against Yao, unable to keep his eyes open as he nuzzled the crook of his neck.

After a few moments of hearing only each other's panted breaths, Yao shifted beneath him. Ivan pulled out, going into the bathroom to grab a towel to clean Yao up.

“N-No, let me do it,” Yao said shakily, his fingers trembling as he reached for the towel. “Don't look.”

Ivan didn't protest. He took his seat next to Yao on the couch and looked the other way, knowing better than to make some comment about how they had already seen each other at their most vulnerable. When Yao finished, he lied down with his head resting in Ivan's lap – his arm draped over his eyes. Ivan wasn't sure if he did that because he was tired or embarrassed, but he was reassured when he stroked Yao's hair and earned a content hum.

“Can I use your shower?” Yao asked.

“Sure, Yaochka,” Ivan said softly, trailing his fingers down Yao's cheek, still flushed. “Are you still mad at me?”

Yao tensed, and for those few moments Ivan was afraid he'd ruined their moment. But Yao only sighed.

“I don't really know how to feel any more.” Yao removed his arm from his eyes, his brows pinched but his gaze distant. “We're not the allies I thought we'd be.”

Ivan fought the unexpected, tiny lump in his throat. “But we'll always have this, won't we?” he said, leaning down to plant a barely-there kiss on Yao's temple. “The good moments?”

“Little flashes of happiness,” Yao hummed, and the smile on his lips was bittersweet.

“Stay for a bit?”

Yao nodded. The rest of the world could wait a little longer.

**Author's Note:**

> SOOOOO. UHHHH. This turned out a lot more angsty than I planned. But, ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Here are some notes for historical context.  
> *In 1958, as part of Mao's "Great Leap Forward" plan to industrialize China, peasants and workers were expected to produce metal in their own backyards using furnaces and scrap metals. To meet quotas, this often meant melting down pots, pans, and other crockery, which produced a low quality steel that was ultimately worthless.  
> **In 1932, during Stalin's first "Five Year Plan", farms in Ukraine were forcibly collectivized with quotas so high there wasn't enough food remaining for the farmers themselves. This led to a major famine, leading to the loss of millions of lives.  
> ***So. To explain. Damansky (or, Zhenbao) is an island located in the Ussuri River, just on the Russian-Chinese border. In 1860, the Treaty of Peking recognised this island as Russian territory. This remained a contentious claim, as normally a river boundary between states would be marked along the middle of the river and this island was right smack in the middle. China would maintain that this island, among others, was on the Chinese side of the river. On March 2nd, 1969, a conflict between Russian and Chinese troops broke out on Damansky/Zhenbao Island. To this day, it isn't clear which side provoked the conflict, but it had lasting damage on the Sino-Soviet relationship, which had already been on the decline.
> 
> This information is based what I studied in school (yearssss ago, so my memory might be faulty), and various sources I could find online, so take these notes with a healthy dose of skepticism and do your own research if you're interested. There is so much fascinating history behind both of these countries and their strange relationship with each other.
> 
> If you enjoyed this fic, or have some history to share with me, feel free to comment and/or leave a kudos! I eat that shit up, feed me if you please.
> 
> EDITED 27/10/2020: Forgot to add lube, so sorry.


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